


The Weapon

by JollyCat



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyCat/pseuds/JollyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean Renard realises how much he's been used, been controlled. Is there possibly a way to change?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Post season 5 finale

He puts the gun on the desk in front of him, turns it so that the barrel is aligned neatly with the edge, looks at it. He's cleaned it and oiled it, he's due to hand it back tomorrow. It's just a tool of course, this particular gun has no meaning for him, it is simply a machine with no will of its own, an artefact that can be used for good, used for evil. In the right hands it can keep the peace, in the wrong hands it can destroy peace for ever and in a child's hands... he thinks power over life and death in the hands of a child is never a good thing, no child should have to deal with that. Next to his gun is his badge. The gun has no sentimental value to him but the badge, he would have to acknowledge that does have meaning. He reaches out one forefinger, touches it gently, strokes a wing of the eagle, down one of the little figures. He has worn it so long it seems odd to think he is meant to hand this back tomorrow too. The third thing he's due to hand back can't be seen but it's the thing he knows means the most to him, just a word but one that has become part of who he is. 'Captain'. Many people have called him that, probably more than call him 'Renard', definitely more than call him 'Sean'. Although oddly it's just one person's voice he hears saying it in his head. He stands suddenly, turns to the window.

Portland looks calm from here, recovering from all the violence and death, that night of madness. Cleaned, repaired, cracks papered over, explanations manufactured. It's late, so late that the tomorrow he's been thinking about is really today, and there is little traffic. There are no stars, the cloud - as it has been for days - thick and dark and heavy. He looks out across the city that was so nearly his but is distracted by his own reflection. He's a big man but this image seems thin, insubstantial. His fist clenches and he has an urge to strike at the glass, smash this ghost of the man he used to be. Instead he consciously relaxes his hand, turns back to the desk, to the gun.

What do you do with a weapon like this? Something that gives almost anyone the strength to coerce, to threaten, to kill? He doesn't know the answer to that, although he supposes he should have an official view on the subject now. But what about not a gun but a different type of weapon? A sentient, living, breathing one. No one can blame the actual gun for the actions carried out using it but can you blame a man, a man used for actions that were not entirely his own?

The first time was Juliette, the zaubertranke and that at least did start with his own action, his own choice. He tried to help, to save Juliette with his kiss, to save Juliette and Nick. And from that came the obsession, the loss of control, actions that were not his, a weapon for Adalind's ambition to destroy the Grimm.

The second time was Jack. He tried to help again, to save Nick and instead he died and lived but with someone, something else controlling him, his body a tool, a weapon for an entity from the other side of death.

The third time was this time. He can't pinpoint just one action for this, where he made his mistake. Sleeping with Adalind? Taking her daughter from her? Or was it simply not seeing the danger, not believing that something so beautiful could be so dangerous. Not evil though, because even now he doesn't believe that. Just too much power much too soon. Diana. Controlling him in ways that even now he can scarcely believe. Bonaparte controlled him too, made him realise just how powerless he really was, a puny crossbreed pretending he was strong, but it's a child, his child, who showed him he was a dangerous weapon no more in his own control than a gun in the hands of a baby. A weapon that can be used for evil, used for good.

If you are used once, not in control once perhaps that is excusable, unfortunate. A second time seems...wrong, careless. A third time, when you realise that you have been controlled, realise that your ambition was not your own, that the things you thought you cared about were another's, when you realise that a third time it is unbearable. How much time in the last four years has he really been himself he wonders, been in control of his own actions? How many things have his hands done, his mouth said that he now can't bear to remember? He thinks he is in control now, thinks he knows what he's done, what he's lost, what he can never regain. He doesn't know that he can ever be entirely sure again though and so it's time to do something about it. He picks up his gun. He will not hand it back today - or the badge or the title, although he guesses they may take that from him anyway. It all ends here though, ends now. Captain Sean Renard turns the gun in his hand, takes a breath.

"Captain. Captain!"

It's so much the voice he heard in his head that for a second he thinks he's imagining it but no, Nick really is there, standing in the doorway as he has so often before. He looks pale, unshaven but calm. Very carefully Sean puts the gun back down on his desk and looks at Nick. He has absolutely no idea what to say. Nick sits down opposite him.  
"Captain, what are you doing?"  
It seems odd that Nick should call him that now, almost odder than him being here at all. Nick hates him, understandably wants to kill him. Ah, that must be it. He puts his hand back on the gun, turns it and pushes it across the desk, grip turned towards Nick. Nick looks back at him, head slightly to one side.  
"Captain, I'm not here to kill you."  
Sean finally finds his voice,  
"I don't think there's anything else I can do for you that you'd want."  
"Yes there is. You can talk to me. Tell me about what's happened, tell me about the whole Mayor thing and Adalind and Black Claw and what you wanted - and what Diana wanted. Tell me everything."  
"Why would you want me to do that?"  
"Because I want to understand."

Sean's mind both races and stands still. He could be angry, could refuse, could rage or defend. But he can't find any words at all. Nick wants to understand? After all this time? He sits motionless, unbelieving until Nick reaches out and puts his hand over Sean's hand, still lying on the desk next to his gun. And the touch releases him, releases the words.

Dawn breaks and the sun rises into a mother of pearl sky. Finally the cloud has lifted. The sun's early rays find their way through undraped windows, gaps in blinds and on to Portland's sleeping residents. A man in a lonely bed, dreaming of monsters, turns over and falls into a more peaceful sleep, thinking instead of a future in which someone unexpected loves him. A couple lie holding tensely, tightly close, as though to protect their unborn child between them. They relax in the warmth of the sunlight, stir and wake and then kiss and caress in a way they haven't for too long. A woman sleeping with a frown creasing her forehead and her restless son beside her falls into a deeper slumber, a slight smile on her face and her baby peaceful. The woman's daughter is not sleeping. Instead she's standing at the window, looking out across the dawn. The girl glances up at the older woman next to her,  
"Did I do it right this time, grandmother?"  
The older woman - beautiful, several decades older than she looks - smiles down at the girl,  
'Yes Diana, this time you did very well indeed."  
Elizabeth's face becomes stern,  
"But now you go to bed and to sleep. You will learn that a gentle push in the right direction works far better than dragging someone against their will and so you must do nothing more, it must be entirely up to them. Do you promise?"  
"I promise."

In the office one man talks and one man listens and eventually both men understand. At some point, neither really knows when, Sean's hand turned within Nick's so that they were palm to palm, fingers entwined. Some time later Nick moved so that the desk was no longer between them. Now as the sun climbs higher Nick stands and says,  
"Come on."  
Sean picks up his gun and badge and takes Nick's outstretched hand once more, follows him from the building and out into the sunlight. He knows now he's not a weapon to be used but so much more. Nick turns to him and smiles and he smiles back. Because together they can still make history. The right kind.


End file.
